


No Room For Heroes

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Zombies, M/M, One Shot, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-30
Updated: 2012-06-30
Packaged: 2017-11-08 21:33:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro and Dave get holed up in their Texas apartment as a plague of the undead rips the city apart. Makeouts ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Room For Heroes

Screams rip through the hot Texas night, unintelligible sounds of fright and rage, desperation and hunger. Doors slam, wheels spin out of control on the ground, usually so dry, now splattered in blood. Bodies hit against buildings, doors, windows, cars, other bodies. Teeth rip mercilessly at skin and eyes, necks, wrists, any exposed flesh. The streets swarm with people, some bloody, running, crawling, seeking salvation or escape. Away from the streets, two young men stand on the roof of an apartment building.

“Move!”

It’s unusual for Bro to raise his voice, but the circumstances are pretty unusual. His sword swings down again and again, taking off a head, an arm. Not enough. They’re closing in too fast, sprinting on dead limbs that shouldn’t have carried the weight of their rotting torsos. He glances over his shoulder. 

“I said move, Dave!”

“I’m fucking trying!” his brother screams back, hacking at another figure reaching toward him, his movements jerky and exhausted. He backs away a pace, two, and Bro follows, keeping their backs together for that meager amount of protection. They flow, practiced motions taking them to the stairwell.  
Dave spins to face the long descent down, holding his cheap broken sword forward. He gasps for air as Bro slams the metal door shut behind them, blocking out the city lights. The sounds of their panting breaths and the distant moans of the undead echo off the walls. They stand still for a moment, each revising their options and plans. Finally, Bro speaks. 

“Back to the apartment. Need to get some things.”

“Right.”

They move swiftly, silently, counting the flights of stairs until they reach the correct floor. Their hands touch on the cool metal knob for a fraction of a second before Dave’s hand flinches away. He’s shaken, Bro can tell, but at least he’s not falling to pieces like the idiots outside. He’s keeping his cool as well as any kid could be expected to in this type of situation. 

Bro presses his ear against the door and listens. He can hear the faint sounds of shuffling, sliding footsteps without rhythm. More of them, but significantly less than on the roof. He takes a moment to consider continuing on to the bottom of the stairs. No. 

“Dave,” his voice is barely a whisper, but he can feel the way his brother instantly responds, shifting closer. Bro reaches out in the darkness and pulls the younger Strider into his chest, successfully muffling the weak cry of surprise that leaks out of Dave’s mouth. His hands come up to grip at Bro’s blood stained polo, still clutching at his useless weapon. The hard frames of his sunglasses are biting into Bro’s chest but he doesn’t care, just holds the boy to him, hushing him quietly. He doesn’t know if Dave is crying or just shaking, but it doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t condemn him for either. 

“We’re almost back to the apartment,” he mumbles into Dave’s soft blonde hair. He presses a gentle kiss against his scalp. If there has ever been a time to become a loving brother, he figures, it’s today. Dave nods. “I’m going to get as many weapons as I’ve got, my stash of cash and anything useful. I need you to grab everything in the kitchen that we can take, shove it in your backpack and be ready for me.” It takes a moment, but the nod comes again, stronger, more confident. 

Bro steps away, hardening himself again to prepare for another massacre. It almost breaks his heart the way Dave’s fingers continue gripping into the fabric of his shirt unconsciously. 

“Let’s go.”

He opens the door.  
\--  
The apartment door slams over and over again as bodies ram into it. Dave can hear the creaking of the metal frame and hopes that it will hold out, just a few more minutes. His hands are slippery with blood, shaking with fear and adrenaline, even as he snatches every bit of food out of the pantry and stuffs it unceremoniously into his bag. He throws open the refrigerator, grabs the juice packs sitting on the bottom shelf. They don’t need to be cold, that’s just how he likes them. 

Colors whirl around him. Dave sticks out a hand to steady himself as his vision blurs. He must be exhausted. When his vision rights itself, he’s staring at his own hand, covered in dirt and blood against the pristine white of the inside of the fridge. It’s surreal to look at. He feels his mind coming to a halt as he stares, his body not responding to his attempts to make it move. 

Bro comes around the corner, tugging a new shirt over his head. He’s got two bags slung over his shoulders. One is obviously packed full of weaponry. The other seems to be full of clothes. Dave tries to say thank you, but nothing comes out. He’d hate to be stuck in these disgusting clothes forever. 

There’s an odd look on Bro’s face. “Dave?” he asks, gently, quietly. He doesn’t move. Dave tries to answer, but his body feels sluggish, and his eyes are so heavy that he closes them to blink and can’t open them again. What’s going on?

“Dave?” A little more frantic this time, but he can’t see. His body is slowly slumping forward into the coldness of the fridge, the bag of food under him. He feels Bro’s hands touch his back, then loop around his chest to pull him from the ground. He’s just so tired. 

Everything goes black.

\--  
Bro feels his little brother’s body go limp in his arms as he passes out. He wants to curse, but keeps silent. The pounding at the door has lessened. Maybe their enemy has forgotten about them for the moment. He drops his bags to the ground as quietly as possible and lifts the unconscious Strider up to his shoulder. He’s so light. 

He positions Dave on the futon, props up his head and feet with ironic throw pillows covered with embroidered kittens. They’re not soft, or comfortable, but they’ll do. He retrieves a wet cloth from the bathroom. It’s probably clean. Hell, it’s definitely cleaner than they are. 

He pulls off the kid’s shades and wipes gently at his face. He’s covered in grime. Sweat, gravel, dirt, specks of blood. There are shadows under his eyes that weren’t there before, he’s sure of it. To be fair, Bro knows that it’s been a while since he’s seen Dave without his shades, but still. He swipes a few times around the collar of Dave’s shirt, then gives up. Too much splatter. Gotta give him a nicer weapon. 

Bro has to take the rag back to the bathroom to run some water over it before he keeps going. This being a good guardian thing is weirding him out. Dave’s arm twitches as he settles back beside the futon, reaching out with the washcloth again. The muscles contract and clench as Bro watches. 

His eyes slide down the lean arm to Dave’s clenched hand. Even through the washcloth, he can feel that the area is hotter than it should be. He cleans his hand of the blood, washing up and down the arm. Something’s not right. He feels like he’s been hit by a baseball bat directly in the head. Something is wrong here but he just can’t see it. He reaches out, panic attacking him, and turns the arm over and over, searching for a clue. 

He finds it. A small, circular wound on the side of his wrist. A bite. 

\--  
A sudden crash jolts Bro from his light sleep. One hand is on his sword immediately, the other checking the gun at his side. The safety is still on, but it’s there in case he needs it. It takes a second for his eyes to adjust to the half darkness but when they do, he relaxes, just a little. The front door is still intact. Dave is still lying under the thin sheet on the futon, turning weakly in his sleep. 

Bro curses under his breath. He hadn’t planned to fall asleep. But considering their relatively safe surroundings, it wasn’t really a bad idea to rest now. Who knew when they’d have the luxury again. 

He glances at his brother again. 

Who knew if they’d ever leave here, actually. 

After Dave had fallen unconscious, Bro’s half hearted attempts to wake him had all failed. He had developed a wicked fever, but his pained moans still sounded very human. The bite mark on his wrist, upon closer inspection, did not seem to be bleeding at all, nor did it have any of the traits of the infected wounds Bro had seen. There was no strange bruising or decay of the surrounding flesh.  
Still, Bro waited. He knew, intellectually, that if his brother were to become a flesh eating monster, he would have to destroy him. Still…  
He couldn’t help looking at the boy he had raised and feeling his heart being torn apart. He couldn’t leave him like this. He couldn’t leave him at all. Striders. We ride together, we die together. It’s a silly motto, one that had never been spoken aloud. Probably stupid to consider staying with Dave, even if he turned. Hell, maybe even letting himself be infected as well. They could begin a whole new breed of horribly strong zombies that would certainly take over the world. 

Dave coughs in his sleep, shaking Bro from his thoughts. He crawls over to the futon and pulls off one of his gloves, laying his bare hand against Dave’s forehead. The fever seems to have lessened. Or is that just his imagination?

This is his fault. If Dave is infected with whatever the hell is happening out there, it’s Bro’s fault, he thinks. He’s supposed to protect Dave, defend him. He lays his head against the side of the futon, taking a few deep breaths. 

He feels shifting above him, and acknowledges that if this were a horror film, this is the part where Dave, having turned into a zombie, would reach down and bite his face off. He turns his head slightly to look up. 

Instead, he finds that Dave is still asleep, but has rolled over to face him. One of his hands reaches down and grasps weakly at Bro’s arm. His red eyes flutter open and he coughs again. 

Bro feels a surge of hopefulness in him. He tries not to let it get too carried away. “Dave?” he whispers, a plea. 

Eyes blink open and shut a few more times, the pupils dilated. Bro wonders if Dave is conscious. If he’s hallucinating. He takes his brother’s hand and squeezes it gently. He hears the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. 

“Bro…” it’s barely a whisper, and the older Strider is almost concerned that he’s just hearing things, but it comes again, a little louder, a whine.

“Bro.”

“I’m here, little man,” Bro says, keeping his voice down. He reaches over to wipe away the sweat-damp hair sticking to Dave’s forehead. “I’m here.”

“Where-”

“We’re still in the apartment, man. It’s cool, just keep it down. Think the neighbors decided there was better hunting elsewhere.”

Dave’s face scrunches up in a way that makes Bro think of when he was barely older than an infant, when he learned the word “no.” He’s known for too many years now that arguing with Bro doesn’t accomplish anything.

“But we were supposed to-” he tries to say, but his sentence trails off into nothingness. He moans again, quietly, and his expression changes to one of pain. 

“Hush,” Bro says, crawling halfway onto the futon. He squirms around until Dave shifts with him. He pulls the younger boy halfway onto him. He’s probably a better pillow than those kitten pillows. Dave curls right into his shoulder, settling there. 

Bro considers that this is probably not the best maneuver on his part, in case Dave does decide to try to snack on him. Then he remembers he doesn’t care. He can’t think of a single thing worth living for if Dave is gone, save wiping out as many of the infected as possible, and even that wouldn’t be fun with the loss of his brother hanging on him. 

He wraps his strong arms around Dave’s middle, pulling him close. He can feel the fever on his skin, the heat uncomfortable. But he bears it. He lays his head near Dave’s upturned features and listens to his breathing slow as he falls back asleep. 

They wait. 

\--  
In every zombie movie he’s ever seen, Bro has watched the protagonist abandon the cities and try to find some kind of mythical zombie-free land where the plague hasn’t spread. After the first forty hours, Bro starts to think that maybe Hollywood had it wrong. 

Sure, the dead still swarm the streets, but more and more they slowly spread out, leaving the tall buildings in search of food. Bro manages to walk to the stairs of his apartment building and blocks them in both directions with furniture, with rubble. He plants a mine in the blockade, just in case. He’s never used one, but what the hell. 

Then he cleans house. He kills the rest of the undead on their level, slicing their heads off their shoulders and throwing their bodies out the windows to crash against the pavement. Sometimes other infected run toward the sound and he watches what must pass for disappointment on their faces as they realize it’s not food. They never seem to realize that the bodies came from above. 

“At least they’re not smart zombies.”

He breaks into the other flats on their floor, taking stock of food and what could be used as weapons. One of their neighbors has survival kits for every type of disaster in his linen closet. Bro takes out the gas mask and hazmat suit to check the sizes. He takes everything, bringing it all back to his apartment, laying it out in the kitchen. 

He checks on Dave every hour, sometimes more often. His fever has broken, and he doesn’t seem to be laboring for breath anymore. Bro lets out a sigh of relief every time he takes note that Dave seems to be getting better. 

Maybe it was for the best that he fell ill in the first place. Seems like they would have had a rougher time if they’d tried to leave. He’s watched from the window as two small groups of survivors tried to flee the city. He watched, and he learned. 

The first group went guns blazing, attracting the attention of more and more zombies. Only three of the five made it out of his line of sight. He could hear them shouting and crying even then, until the sounds of their screams were muffled by the roar of the undead horde. 

The second group tried to be stealthy. They walked slowly, quietly, cautiously, through the streets. They carried guns on their backs, but had crowbars and baseball bats in their hands. Their group made their way around the loitering zombies very well. Bro wonders if the zombies are even aware of their presence. He goes back to his own hunting. 

Bro actually cracks a smile when he finds a generator and some camping supplies in another apartment. He was not looking forward to eating cold beanie weenies out of a can. He hooks a few things up long enough to cook some soup. He’s not sure how he’s going to survive on his own cooking. The Striders usually rely on take out. 

Dave is awake when he brings the soup over, staring at him in a way that makes him look down at himself. Has he grown an extra arm?

“Is that soup?” Dave croaks, his voice sounding raw. Bro nods, all seriousness on his face. 

“Delicacy, I know.” He sits down at Dave’s feet and the blonde slowly sits up to meet him. The dark circles under his eyes are still there, Bro notes. 

Dave reaches out to take the soup and Bro hands it over. He runs a hand through the mess of blonde hair before him and breathes out another sigh of relief. “How you feelin’, kid?”

Dave sips at the soup, his eyes closing a few times. He looks exhausted. 

“Not sure. Tired. Weak. But I guess that means I’m alive, so I’ll take it.” He takes another mouthful of soup, focusing on not letting it spill down his front. Bro can see the way his arms shake, just a little, holding the bowl. 

Bro reaches over and taps against his wrist gently. Dave flinches and almost drops the bowl of hot soup onto himself. Bro steadies it for him. 

Dave looks at his own arm, a look of confusion on his face. “Oh.” He says simply. 

“I thought they got you.”

Dave shakes his head, cheeks a little red. It’s not from the fever this time. 

“Fuck, this is stupid,” he sighs out. “My friend, at school. He was being a dipshit a few days ago, trying to give me a hickey.”

Bro feels his entire body start at the idea. How dare he try to mark Dave that way. Especially in a joking manner. 

“Are you shitting me.” It’s not even a question. He had been so worried. Over a fucking attempted hickey? The kid had obviously never given a hickey before or he was just fucking with Dave. Or Dave was lying.

Dave sends him a sheepish smile over his bowl. Bro lets out a disgruntled breath and looks at the far wall as if it will give him someone to take out his annoyance on. 

He hopes the kid is dead. 

That’s a little harsh. 

Yeah, but it’s still true. 

The silence that falls between them is uncomfortable. Dave focuses on his soup while Bro stares blankly at the wall. He can’t get the image out of his head. A friend, some nameless boy taking Dave’s flesh between his teeth and leaving a mark. 

Dave shifts around on the futon, making a quiet grunting sound when he can’t sit up all the way. Bro moves immediately to accommodate him, pulling the younger man up against him. Dave sets the bowl against his legs and buries his face into Bro’s neck, breathing in the scent of his skin. 

He doesn’t care that Bro smells mostly like axe barely masking body odor. It’s comforting in its own way. Dave allows Bro to pry the bowl from his fingers and watches as he gently set it on the floor so that it doesn’t make noise. 

The silence turns comfortable again as they sit together, staring at the blank TV screen. Bro speaks quietly, filling Dave in on what he’s been doing. 

“So how much food did you get?”

“Enough to last a while. Maybe a few weeks. Lots of imperishable food. We could stay here.”

Dave looks up at him, hints of shock on his young face. “I thought we had to leave.”

Bro lets his words sit on his tongue a moment before he speaks them. 

“We’ve got a pretty good setup here, kid. I think we should stay. The stairs are blocked, nothing can get in. Their food supply will run out way before ours does. And we’ve still got running water, for now. If something changes, we can make a ladder from one of the windows, get to the truck, and go.”

Dave nods, and Bro is proud to see the gears turning in his head. He’s not just agreeing because it’s Bro’s plan. He’s agreeing because he thinks it’s sound. Good. 

Dave’s face turns down again. He looks mildly ashamed. “What’s wrong, little bro?”

“I’m sorry for getting sick,” he says. Bro scoffs. 

“Like that was something you could control. I shouldn’t have pushed you so hard.”

“You always push me that hard.”

“Fair enough.” He can’t really think of anything to say so he pulls his brother closer, pressing a kiss against his head. Dave pretends to struggle and a smile blooms over Bro’s face. 

“It’s cool,” he finally settles on. Dave doesn’t argue, just leans in against him and prepares to go back to sleep. 

\--  
 **Day 3**

Dave’s body is finally cooperating again. He can coordinate simple movements, he can keep down his food, his fever has come and gone like a bad dream. The relief Bro feels is momentous. 

He hands Dave one of his swords, beautifully crafted, a real weapon, unlike the ironically shitty swords Dave has always used to practice. It’s a little too heavy for him. 

He struggles to lift it into the proper position. He’s not used to real steel. 

Bro watches with a smile. He hasn’t thought once about the jobs he was working, or mixing a new beat, or the women who throw themselves at him. Despite the crowds of undead floors beneath them, he is happy in that moment, watching Dave learn to properly balance a real sword. Watching Dave. 

**Day 4**

The older Strider clears out a path on the upwards stairwell to the roof. He whistles once and almost immediately they can hear the thump of feet sluggishly moving towards them. At least one of the zombies trips and falls down the stairs. Bro snags one by the collar of its torn up shirt and slides it bodily across the ground toward their apartment. He pushes the clutter back into the stairwell, effectively blocking the path once again. He closes the door behind him. 

Dave stands in the path of the zombie as it wrenches itself to its feet, looking around blindly. He stands perfectly still, holding his new blade in front of him in a ready position. From across the hallway, Bro nods, a tiny movement, and takes a silent step forward.  
Dave steps as well, his muscles so tense that they hurt. The zombie doesn’t react, just stands there, staring at the floor. They step again, slowly closing in. 

Bro puts up one hand to halt Dave’s progress and he does so without question. Bro strides the last few steps until he is standing directly behind the undead. It doesn’t seem to notice him at all. 

Dave walks over to the wall, watchful. He holds his sword out and, gently, taps the metal blade against the concrete. 

Immediately, the zombie reacts to the sound, lurching forward with a howl of hunger. Dave rolls out of the way, letting the creature crash into the wall, its infected blood leaving behind a smearing trail. 

“Go for the head,” Bro prompts. The undead thing swings its head around at the sound of his voice, eyes unfocused. Dave doubts that it can see, and if it can, not well. 

Dave grips his sword tighter, watching the undulating motion as the zombie sways back and forth like a snake, trying to figure out where to attack.

“Right,” he whispers. He sprints forward, darting to the side at the last moment and thrusting his sword up at the unprotected neck. His blade goes through the flesh like a hot knife into butter, ripping through the flesh and dislodging the spinal cord. He isn’t quite strong enough to take the head clean off, like Bro, but the damage is enough. 

The zombie slumps to the ground, twitches once, and lies still. Dave backs away and watches, to be sure. Bro counts five minutes while they wait to see if it will move again, and then strides forward, picking the body up and taking it to the nearest window and tossing it out. The head splatters against the concrete of the outside parking lot where it lands. 

“Well, it’s definitely dead now,” Bro says. Dave cracks a smirk and props the sword over his shoulder. 

**Day 5**

Another group of survivors try to escape the wreckage of the city. They make it just past the apartment where the Striders are held up before they succumb to the horde. Bro forces Dave into his chest so he can’t see them being ripped limb from limb, but he can’t block out the sounds. He feels tears soaking through his shirt and curses, picking his brother up and taking him into the bedroom. 

Dave’s hands stay curled over his ears until Bro knocks them away with a pair of very expensive headphones. They’re supposed to block out all sound, so said the packaging. Dave stares at his lap, eyes red rimmed, but mutters “thank you” so quietly that Bro thinks maybe the headphones are really as good as they say. 

Bro sits next to him on the mattress and Dave automatically climbs into his lap. He’s probably too old for how Bro picks him up and throws him around. Dave grabs his face and pulls it down toward him. 

Bro starts for a moment, unsure of himself for the first time he can remember in a long time. Dave’s forehead presses against his, his eyes screwed shut as Bro watches him breathlessly. What is he waiting for. What is he doing. 

Dave moves, so slowly that Bro feels like he’s caught in a slow-motion replay of events. His lips brush against the corner of Bro’s mouth, not even a kiss. He curls in on himself without meeting Bro’s eyes, snuggling into his shoulder and putting his hands over the headphones to hold them on tighter. 

Bro sits completely still and tries to ignore the way his blood burns and his lips tingle. 

**Day 6**

Dave shoots a gun for the first time. He’s a terrible shot. 

**Day 7**

Bro unblocks the stairs again and let a few undead trickle in to kill them. He’d like to have access to the roof, if possible. He doesn’t want to have to clear every floor between theirs and the roof. 

He’s very aware of the way Dave is watching his every move as he goes through their supplies, looking for anything he might have missed. 

**Day 8**

He still can’t stop thinking about the not-kiss. It’s plaguing him, every waking moment, and even some of his unconscious ones. Maybe it’s the stress of not knowing if there’s anyone else on the planet alive that’s turning his attention to his little bro, but the elder Strider tries to ignore it. 

It’s hard to ignore when Dave is making those little breathy sounds. 

Bro wakes slowly, groggy, instinctually reacting to the sound of Dave’s voice. It’s late, dark. He pats the bed next to him and finds only vestigial traces of warmth. Why would Dave get out of bed in the middle of the night? They had agreed it would be safest to sleep in the innermost room, away from the door. They couldn’t be safe enough. 

Bro sits up in his bed, rubbing at his eyes for a moment. They’d adjust to the darkness in a moment. 

Again, a sound meets his ears, and he freezes, his brain finally realizing what it is. 

Soft breathing, a whine. Dave’s voice. A moan, unlike the ones he had uttered while suffering from his fever a few days ago. Bro’s brain had begun a slow meltdown. 

He should stop listening. He should roll over, put a pillow over his head and go back to sleep. Instead, he finds himself standing, padding on silent feet to the door.

His blood stirs as the noises get louder. Bro tries to ignore the faint feeling of arousal swarming over him as he listens. He shouldn’t be doing this. This is wrong. Dave gasps. 

Bro nudges the door open just a tiny bit, catches sight of Dave sitting against the wall, right in front of him. His eyes are closed, his hand down the front of his sleeping shorts, fisting his erection. He pulls, his fingers darting over himself as he lets his head drop back against the wall with a soft thud. 

_Look away._

Bro wets his dry lips with his tongue, unable to stop staring. He can feel himself hardening in his pants, just watching, listening.

He takes a quiet, deep breath and pulls away from the door. He walks a step back towards the bed. Good. Dave moans again, louder. Bro shudders and bites his lip unconsciously. He goes to take another step away. 

“Bro.”

_Fuck._  
\--

He turns to look over his shoulder in slow motion. He can explain this. He’s just checking on him, of course. He isn’t _watching_ or anything. It’ll be fine. Dave will understand. 

Dave isn’t looking at him though. His eyes are still screwed shut as his hand flies faster and faster on his straining length. 

But why would he say that if he hadn’t seen him?

“Bro!” Breathless, but more urgent. 

_Oh._

Bro experiences the unique feeling of his mind being blown away. Dave is masturbating. To him. To thoughts of him. No way. 

He is still staring, dumbfounded, as Dave’s breath quickens, his hand squeezes at his flesh, and his eyes flutter weakly. Bro watches at Dave’s mouth forms his name in silence as his come shoots up his chest. He falls back against the wall, breathing heavily, and opens his eyes. 

\--  
The door is more open than he’d left it. He could have sworn. Dave eyes the door to the bedroom suspiciously. He is certain he’d closed it almost all the way, but now it is propped open. The color drains out of his face. What if. Could Bro have. Did he see?

Dave stands up on shaking feet, abruptly has the sense to remove his shirt and clean himself with it before dropping it on the floor with the bloody clothes he had discarded a few days ago. He walks to the door and peers through the crack. 

Bro is in bed, rolled over on his side, sound asleep. Dave lets out a breath of relief. He lets the door open to slide through the opening, then closes it, flicking the lock.  
They could never be too careful. 

He slides back beneath the sheet, curling up next to his brother, trying to calm his erratic heartbeat with even breaths. In and out. Bro shifts in his sleep beside him, moving away slightly. 

Dave follows the motion, determined to sleep exactly where he wants: curled up in Bro’s embrace, safe. He nudges his body into the curve of his brother’s pressing his back to Bro’s chest until he can feel the man’s heart beating against his skin. He presses closer, closing his eyes and drifting away to sleep. 

But he can’t get comfortable. There’s something hard pressing against his leg, something unbearably hot. He reaches under the sheet, searching for whatever it is. 

His hand brushes the fabric of Bro’s pants. He stops moving. Bro is utterly still. Not the still of someone who is asleep, but of someone who is trying desperately not to move. He concentrates on the feeling. Something warm and hard pressed against the back of his thigh. Oh.

Dave belatedly feels very, very stupid. He lets his hand draw back to his side, unsure of what to do. 

“Need some help?” he whispers. It’s a test as much of a question. Is this really happening? A dream maybe? 

Silence greets his inquiry. Bro’s breath curls around his ear. Dave’s breath stutters in and out of his body. He feels spent, but the feel of that warm embrace, the hot flesh pressing insistently against him, the air teasing over his ear makes him shudder with pleasure. Maybe this really is a dream. 

Dave steels himself a moment, pumping up his courage in his mind, and reaches a trembling hand behind him. His fingers touch the tightness of his brother’s abs and then skate further down, touching the hem of his pants. His fingers dip under the hem for a moment and then pull back, continuing on down his clothed body. 

Dave can hear the sharp intake of breath from behind his head as his fingers find their destination. His hand curls around the hard length of Bro’s erection as much as he can through the layer of cloth, palming gently at it. Bro’s body shudders, his shoulders curving forward. He lets out a little breathy sigh and Dave feels Bro’s hand on his wrist, pulling. 

“Why?” He asks. He expects a response this time. He knows Bro is awake. 

“Dave,” his voice is low, dark, husky. Dave his never heard his brother sound quite like this before. He doesn’t continue. 

“Why.” He asks again, pulling his wrist gently from the older man’s grip. He turns to face Bro, curling up towards him, ready to drill him for an answer. 

Bro’s eyes meet his in an intense stare. Dave feels everything fade away, staring straight forward, unable to look away. 

He reaches forward, his free hand tracing over Bro’s handsome face, brushing his thumb across his sideburns, his jaw, his ear. “Why?”

Dave watches as his brother searches for an answer. He waits. He’s not great at being patient, but he knows better than to rush this. 

“It’s not right,” he begins. His eyes are downcast, like he already knows this was a bad start. 

“How so?” Dave can think of a million answers, but none of them seem legitimate, or true. 

“I’m your brother.”

“Get to the point.”

“I raised you.”

“Yes, you did. Well done.”

“Dave,” there’s warning in his tone. “This is serious.”

Dave rolls his eyes, making sure Bro can see it even in the low light. “I’m being serious, Bro. Give me a good reason. Those aren’t good reasons.”

Bro’s face adopts a scowl as he glares at his brother. Dave waits, ready to counter anything he might say. 

“I’m not going to take advantage of you.” Ah. There it is. 

“Right. You’re not going to,” Dave agrees, and he can see the tiny spark of surprise on Bro’s expression. “I want this. I want you.” Bro’s expression closes up again. “I wouldn’t let you hurt me, anyway. Let it go. If you don’t want it, just say so.” It hurts him to speak those words so casually. He feels the burn in his throat. Wow, maybe it would have been easier to have never brought this up after all. 

Bro doesn’t speak, just stares at Dave’s passive face for a moment and then closes his eyes, sighing in defeat. He pulls Dave closer, into the comfort of his strong chest. “It’s not that,” he whispers. Dave’s heart jumps with hope. “Then what is it?”

Bro takes another deep breath and lets it out, ruffling Dave’s hair with the force of it. “That’s not how this is going to start, if it starts at all.” Dave can’t help the triumphant smile on his lips. 

“How does it start?” He must sound eager, because a smirk slides across Bro’s face and he lets out a little laugh. 

“Well, little bro, usually, when two people want to do the nasty,” Dave chokes on a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand to smother it. “They start with a kiss.”Dave’s heart leaps into his throat. 

“Okay.” He responds too quickly, but can’t help himself. Bro laughs under his breath at Dave’s reaction. “Let’s do that, then.” Bro laughs again, but his expression has become wary again. 

“Are you sure?” He asks quietly. 

“Yeah,” Dave isn’t sure the word was actually audible. He can’t hear anything over the drumbeat of his heart hammering against his ribs. Bro watches him carefully, then closes his eyes and nods. 

“Just one,” he says, like he’s talking about giving Dave sweets before bed. “Just one for today, and that’s all.” Dave nods in agreement. 

Bro’s arms pull him closer, one sliding up his back to settle at the base of his neck. Dave closes his eyes, leaning in. 

Bro watches for that one last second and, giving in, leans in to press their lips together. 

\--  
It’s not like in the movies, like Dave thought it might be. There aren’t fireworks. It’s just skin pressed against skin. But then Bro shifts, holding him tight, and Dave feels the euphoria sweep over him. He feels the burn under his skin, the tingle in his nerve endings. He lets out a little breath as Bro pulls away, looking down. 

“You okay, kid?” There’s a mocking note in his voice. Dave flicks his collarbone. 

“I’m just fine, thank you for asking.” When in doubt, rely on Southern manners. 

“Good.” The mocking tone is gone, replaced with genuine relief. 

Dave looks up to his brother, meets his eyes, and smiles a slow, gentle smile. “It really is alright,” he reminds Bro aloud. “I want this.”

Bro looks away, but nods. He drops his head back into his pillow with a sigh. Dave settles against him. 

Bro waits until Dave’s breathing evens out and he knows the younger man is asleep before he lets himself drift off. He has a lot to think about. 

**Day 9**

Bro wakes up and, for a moment, experiences a severe case of déjà vu. The bed is empty beside him, but the warmth from another body hasn’t quite dissipated. 

There’s light shining in from behind his blinds, signaling the start of another day. How long has it been since the outbreak? He’s not sure. Not that long. 

He recalls the activity from last night, shaking his head as his body reacts to the mental image of his brother on the floor, moaning his name, the memory of Dave’s tentative fingers touching his cock through his pants. He lets out a deep breath and wills his hormones to go the fuck back to sleep. 

He can hear Dave quietly wandering the apartment, his bare feet on the cheap tiled floors. Dave trips over something, squawks like a bird and then grumbles under his breath. Bro brings a hand to cover the smile stretching his mouth just in time. 

The door swings open and Dave stands there, looking flustered. He shifts from foot to foot and then holds out a plate. Grits. 

“I don’t think I broke anything.” He says in response to Bro’s questioning glance. 

“You made me breakfast.” There’s a smile in his voice. Teasing. The light flush on Dave’s cheeks darkens a little and he turns resolutely away. “Would’ve been rude not to.”

“Thanks, honey,” Bro laughs, enjoying the way Dave’s body jerks like the word stung him. He pulls the plastic fork through the breakfast food and starts eating it, a grin plastered on his face. 

Dave’s sulking face is cute. He files away the information.

He tries for a moment to come up with a retort, the settles for, “Anything for you, schnookums.”

Bro almost snorts grits out his nose. 

\--  
Dave lets out a disgruntled noise as his shot misses, yet again. He checks the rifle over, making sure everything is where it’s supposed to be. He checks the safety, just to get in the habit. He sighs and pulls back the chamber to load another bullet. He aims at one of the closer undead milling about on the ground, looking hopelessly for the source of the noise. 

“You gotta relax,” Bro says from behind, causing Dave’s shot to ring off the building next to theirs. 

“You scared the shit out of me, what is wrong with you.” His eyes are wide, accusing. He looks properly startled. Bro just smirks. 

“Come on, man. We’ve got a good stash of ammo but not with the way you shoot.” Dave gives him the most sour look he can muster. 

“I’ll just stick to close range, then,” he says, tapping the sword that he’s slung over his hip. He looks like some kind of ridiculous zombie slaying knight, but Bro has to admit it’s better than carrying the weapon and being unable to use his hands. 

His words turn over in Bro’s mind and he finds himself standing, cornering Dave at the window where he was practicing. Close range. He thinks of the fight on the roof. He thinks of Dave going limp in his arms. 

“No. You can do it.” He insists. Dave looks suspicious, like he can’t quite figure out what Bro is thinking. Bro motions for Dave to turn around again. He does, slowly, putting the butt of the rifle back against his shoulder. 

Bro takes a breath and steps up behind his brother. He leans over him, caging his smaller body against his own, hard chest. Dave lets out a startled breath. Bro weaves his arms around so he can feel the way Dave holds the firearm. 

“Hold it a little more snug to your shoulder,” he whispers into Dave’s ear, enjoying the slight shiver that runs over him. Dave adjusts his hold immediately. 

“Line up your sights, there you go. Pick one that’s not so close, you’re trying to shoot straight down.” Dave huffs under his breath but picks a zombie closer to their neighboring building instead of the one he had previously been targeting. 

He’s acutely aware of Bro behind him, his heat, his body. He can feel the air moving in Bro’s chest against his back and being exhaled onto his neck. Bro’s lips twitch into a smile against his ear. Asshole.

“Now, get ready, take a long, slow breath, good, exhale, and squeeze.”

Dave can barely concentrate on handling the gun with Bro so close, but he focuses himself, breathes out, and pulls the trigger. 

Bro laughs triumphantly and pats him on the shoulder at the zombie’s head bursts into shrapnel. Dave stares out at the damage he’s done and then puts the safety back on and sets the rifle down. 

“What’s wrong, kid?” Bro asks, ruffling his hair affectionately. “You did great.”

“I was aiming for his chest,” Dave admits, looking down at the floor. 

“Hey, at least you hit him that time,” Bro reminds him. Dave shrugs. “Yeah, that’s true.” His disappointment melts into a smile. 

“Do I get a reward?” 

Bro tries not to show the way his heart catches in his throat with those words. “Maybe. What do you want.”

Dave looks at the wall to his left, then his right, then the ceiling, then lets his eyes slide home to Bro’s face, smile turned wicked. He considers for a moment, and then lets out a little laugh. 

“A kiss.” He decrees. Bro lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“Yeah, okay,” He agrees. “You deserve that.”

Dave puts his arms gently around Bro’s neck as they lean together, lips barely touching. Bro closes his eyes, savoring the feel of the warm body against him and flexes his arms, bringing Dave closer. 

Dave’s mouth parts, just a tiny bit, and his tongue flicks at Bro’s bottom lip. Bro counts to ten. Shit, no, at least five, come on. 

Bro counts to five and then opens his mouth, sucking Dave’s bottom lip between his teeth, biting down gently. Dave reacts immediately, gasping and his body jerking lightly. Bro pulls away, a satisfied smile on his face. 

Dave lets out a shaky laugh. “Cool. So the more zombies I kill, the more kisses I get?”

“Sounds like a deal.”

**Day 11**

Dave doesn’t always cash in his kills. He thinks it’s a little morbid, and if he’s honest, pretty creepy. He has to remind himself every day that these aren’t people anymore, and he’s doing them a favor by putting them down. He hopes that’s the truth. 

He’s been watching Bro mixing chemicals in the kitchen with the window open for venting. He’s got a line of Molotov cocktails on the kitchen counter, and all sorts of nonsense that looks like the ingredients for explosives. 

Dave comes over from the living room window, where he shoots from. They don’t leave their apartment much, even though their floor is clear. Seems like a better idea to stick to a closed in space. 

“What’s up?” Bro asks before Dave can speak. 

“Think I’m done for the day.” Bro nods his acceptance of this fact and holds his hand out for the rifle. Dave hands it over and reminds himself not to be offended that  
Bro always checks the safety. Just in case. 

“Getting better?”

“Yeah,” Dave answers, moving a few steps closer. Bro turns to face him, leaning back against the counter. “I got 12 today. Mostly where I was aiming.” Bro’s smile makes him so proud he nearly beams. 

“Good job,” Bro praises, clapping Dave on the shoulder. They stand there in companionable silence. 

“You waiting for your reward?” Bro asks, one eyebrow inching up on his face. 

Dave flushes, wanting to pretend that, no, of course not, that’s not it, but Bro reaches out and pulls him in before he can speak. 

“I’m just teasing you,” he mutters, his lips brushing against Dave’s as they form the words. Dave tilts his chin up, pressing them together again. It’s like a craving now.  
He thinks about it all day. He should be worried about the state of the world, or missing his using his mixing equipment, or something, anything. But all he can think about is the fire that races through him whenever Bro touches him. 

He keeps pressing forward, unable to stop. He licks Bro’s lip and then sucks it into his mouth in an imitation of the way Bro had teased him before. The groan that boils up from Bro’s throat is delicious to Dave’s ears. He bites down, gently, and the world flips. 

Suddenly his back is against the fridge, and Bro is picking him up, their lips still locked together. Dave wraps his legs around his brother’s waist, his arms around his strong shoulders, holding himself up. He lets out a stuttering moan as Bro releases his mouth, moving to his neck, kissing, biting, sucking at the flesh there. 

“Bro!” he can’t hold in the moan that falls from his lips. Bro leans in closer, his body holding Dave against the appliance and Dave whines when he feels the hardness in his brother’s pants again being shoved against him. 

“Ah, fuck.” One of his hands travels up into Bro’s hair, knocking off his hat. He hasn’t worn it that much recently, and Dave has gotten used to playing with his hair whenever he wants. He pulls on the blonde spikes, and Bro moans for him, his lips parting from his skin as his head is yanked back. 

“Wait,” Dave whispers, and immediately Bro ceases movement, as though he has turned to stone. Dave takes his face in his hands, stroking gently, his eyes closed in bliss. 

Bro nods slowly, wrapping his arms protectively around Dave’s back, leans in and kisses his temple. He takes a few steadying breaths, feeling the frantic beat of Dave’s heart against his own. 

“What is it?”

Dave shakes his head, breathes out a few times. “It’s nothing, I just needed a second.” Bro understands what he doesn’t say. _It’s too much. Too fast. Slow down, please._

Bro rubs his brother’s shoulders in a slow, steady massage. Dave slowly relaxes, dropping forward against his shoulder, breathing out a long, slow sigh. 

The older man tries to ignore the tightness in his jeans, tries to shift the weight of Dave’s body so he’s not grinding against it with every little shift. Dave gasps against his neck, his body tensing for a second. 

“Should we-” Dave trails off, unsure. 

“What?” Bro prompts, quiet. 

“Maybe we should go to the bed.” Bro is silent, holding him there as if his weight is nothing. 

“Are you sure?” He asks, finally. 

“No,” Dave says, honestly. “But I’d like to try.”

Both Striders take a few deep breaths and then Bro strides swiftly from the kitchen and to the bedroom, lowering Dave gently onto their unmade bed. Dave looks up at him with trust in his eyes, leaning up on his elbows, and Bro leans down to press a kiss against his lips. 

It starts gentle again, easy, but they’re both aware of the fire building up between them. Bro lays himself down over Dave’s body, covering him. The side of Dave’s neck is already red from his attack in the kitchen. Bro goes back to work there, gentler this time, caressing the skin with his tongue and sucking gently. 

Dave’s gasping breaths turn to moans quickly, feeding Bro’s need to lavish the attention upon him. Bro’s hands run up and down Dave’s sides over his clothes, pulling lightly on the fabric. Dave shivers under him, one hand going to grip Bro’s hair and the other trailing down the taut muscles of his back. 

The younger Strider grabs a fistful of Bro’s polo and tugs on it. Bro responds immediately, sitting up on his knees and pulling the shirt over his head. Dave stares as flesh is uncovered for him. It’s really not fair. Bro is a perfect example of human anatomy. An Adonis. And he knows it. 

He tilts his head up, rolling his shoulders. Showing off. Dave scoffs at him but Bro just smirks down at the shorter blonde. “Your turn,” he purrs, making Dave’s heart jump again. 

Dave leans up on his elbows and tries to get at his shirt but doesn’t have much success. Bro laughs good naturedly at him and leans down, grabbing the material and helping to pull it off. He runs a hand over Dave’s chest, admiring his lean, thin form. 

Where Bro is built and strong, all muscle, Dave is lean, his muscles packed in, less prominent. He’s got a body more befitting of a swimmer, Bro thinks as he teases his fingers over Dave’s abs. Their eyes meet again and Bro is glad to see a hint of challenge there in those red eyes. 

He crawls forward, trapping Dave on the bed with the cage of his body, slowly settling on top of him again. He smirks as he grinds his hips down into Dave, eliciting a moan from the younger man as their clothed erections press together. Their bare chests meet, skin to skin, and Dave leans up to capture Bro’s mouth again, his arms winding around Bro’s shoulders to hold onto him as he begins to pump his hips. 

Bro reaches down and drags one of Dave’s legs over his hip and the other follows suit of its own accord, locking around his middle. He grinds his hips forward again and Dave throws his head back with another moan as Bro’s bulge presses against his ass. 

“Fuck,” Dave bites out, sounding out of breath. Bro laughs, a breathy sound, rolling his hips again. He does it again, and again, until Dave’s breathing is ragged beneath him. 

Dave’s arms unwind from around Bro’s neck, one clutching at his shoulder as the other dives between their bodies. Bro wants to laugh at his eagerness, but it comes out as a hoarse moan when Dave’s hand goes straight for his belt, tugging expertly. The belt comes loose in seconds and Dave’s hand snakes into his pants, pressed between the weight of their bodies. 

Bro wants to ask if this is okay, make sure they’re not going too fast, but he can’t breathe, let alone speak, as Dave’s hand dips into his underwear and touches him. 

It’s hesitant at first, light touches barely enough to elicit more than a burn for more. Bro whines in the back of his throat as he pulls back, a complete accident, and 

Dave dives in for more. His hand wraps firmly around the length and pulls. 

“Ah, fuck,” Bro mutters, letting his head fall against Dave’s shoulder as the younger Strider works him. Dave presses little kisses against Bro’s unclothed shoulders, his neck, his collarbone. He bites on the lobe of his ear, uses his other hand to grab onto Bro’s shoulder and cling like a wildcat. His nails bite into Bro’s skin as he uses it for leverage. 

Dave watches his brother’s face, completely mesmerized by the emotions crossing over his features. Lust mixed with pain, pleasure. His eyes open. Love. He’s not sure he can stand to look at it, so starkly represented, so plain and obvious. He focuses on his hand, moving up and down Bro’s cock, thumb swiping over the head, pleasuring and teasing. 

He can feel the way Bro’s body is tightening. Dave licks and nibbles on his ear again, pumping harder. “Come for me,” he whispers, and even though it’s the cheesiest fucking thing, Bro shudders and groans and comes into his hand. The larger man stays there, over him, shaking, as Dave delicately pulls his hand out of Bro’s pants, wiping the mess on the sheets. 

\--  
Bro’s mind is blank just long enough that Dave squirms uncomfortably beneath him. His pale face is flushed when Bro looks down at him, his eyes alive in a way that makes Bro want to eat him alive, keep him forever. Disturbing mental image aside. 

Dave squirms again, pressing his hard cock against Bro’s hips as he moves. “Little help?” he whispers. The question is barely out of his mouth before Bro is moving, kneeling on the bed beside his brother, working at the fastenings of his jeans and pulling them down his long legs. Bro pauses a moment to see if Dave will stop him, looking down at his almost naked body, eyeing the front of his boxers. When no resistance comes, he pulls the tented underwear away as well. 

Dave starts, moving his arms as if to cover himself, shield his naked body from Bro’s hungry eyes, but his older brother just grasps his wrists and pins them above his head with one hand. He lies still under the larger man’s careful scrutiny, unsure what to do. 

“You’re beautiful.” Dave isn’t sure if the words were spoken aloud, but he feels them right to his core. 

“You’re so corny,” he mutters. Bro laughs softly at him, but doesn’t disagree. He runs his free hand over Dave’s chest slowly, over his ribs, stomach, across his hip bones, and finally settles on his thigh.

“If you want me to stop,” Bro starts. 

“I’ll tell you,” Dave finishes for him, his heart pounding as he watches Bro’s hand glide closer and closer to his erection. Strong, sword practiced fingers grip him, sliding up to the head, then back down to the base, and Dave lets out a quiet whine, straining idly against the hold on his wrists. 

Bro moves, repositioning himself, letting go of Dave’s arms. He pumps the younger man’s cock in his hand, feels the throbbing weight of it, enjoys the way it lays against his palm. He looks up, meeting Dave’s gaze as he leans down and flicks his tongue against the head. 

Dave’s head drops back with a soft cry, his hands gripping into the sheets as Bro runs his tongue over the flesh before him, up and down, circling the head, lapping at the slit. 

“B-Bro!” Dave’s voice shivers with pleasure. The older man continues the motions of his hand, letting his tongue tease his brother, pulling little whines of pleasure from his mouth. 

“Dave,” he prompts, his voice a low, husky sound. “Look at me.”

It takes a moment for him to respond, but Dave props himself up shakily, his mouth open, panting. Bro winks, grinning, and before Dave has a chance to speak, or move, or think, he wraps his lips over his teeth and takes the length into his mouth. 

He’s never going to let Dave forget the sound he makes as Bro’s throat closes around Dave’s heated flesh. 

Dave drops back down again, his hands flying, clutching at the bedspread, at the pillow behind his head, shakily skating through Bro’s hair. He clutches at the blonde strands with one hand, the other clawing at the sheets continually. 

Bro wants to laugh in triumph at the way Dave writhes on the sheets. He’s never had so much fun giving someone else pleasure. He strokes Dave’s body with his hands, fondling his balls, running over his thighs, holding his hips down as he swallows, hollowing his cheeks. Dave is getting louder, and as much as he loves hearing those breathy whines and cries of pleasure, Bro forces himself to pull back, stroking with his fist. 

He thrusts his other hand forward, slowing his pace, ignoring Dave’s needy whines. 

“Come on, suck, and keep quiet.” He doesn’t want to remind Dave about the dangers of being too loud any more than he wants to think about it, himself. Dave looks at the fingers offered to him with trepidation, but sticks out his tongue and coats them with saliva, sucking the digits between his lips and groaning quietly as the hand on his cock squeezes and strokes. 

Bro pulls his hand back, holding it to the side. “Good. Now hush. Bite the pillow if you want. Nice and stereotypical.”

“Oh shu—ahhhh, Bro!” his retort is cut off as the older blonde descends again, taking the throbbing length back into his mouth, sucking and swallowing. Dave tries to glare down at him, but fails. He starts when he feels something slick press against his ass. 

He settles again, breathing in and out, trying to relax as a finger breaches the tight ring of muscle and slowly slides into him. It’s a weird feeling, but not unpleasant. 

Bro swallows around his cock again, taking him all the way and his head swims with pleasure. 

Dave can’t separate the feelings anymore, the sensations running together. The stretch of a finger inside of him, the heat and pressure around his erection, the hand gripping his hips, stopping him from thrusting up into the heat of his brother’s mouth. It runs together into a delirious blur until it all focuses down on him in a single moment. 

“Bro, I’m, oh, fuck, Bro, I’m gonna-” He tries to warn his brother. Pull back now or forever hold your peace. Bro sucks resolutely, twisting his finger inside Dave’s body, curling it upward and barely skimming his prostate. 

Dave explodes, his mind shattering into a million pieces. He bites into his own arm, muffling the scream that tears its way out of his throat. White bursts behind his eyes and his hips jerk despite Bro’s hard hold on them. 

Bro swallows, releasing the softening member from his mouth slowly. He grabs the sheet and yanks it over to wipe the away the come dribbling down his chin. It’s not like they need it anyway. It’s Texas, and they don’t run the AC. 

He pulls himself up, crawling next to his brother’s tired body. Dave’s eyes are closed, and he’s panting like he just finished running a marathon. Bro strokes a hand over his forehead and red eyes open to look up at him. Dave smiles. 

“Wow,” he whispers. “Uh, thanks.” Bro snickers, leaning down to press a kiss to his hair. “No problem. Any time.”

Dave laughs breathlessly while Bro scoots up to the head of the bed and shucks his pants and underwear. Dave looks at him funny. 

“What. You get to be naked. I want to be naked too.” 

Dave crawls the short distance to find his place on Bro’s shoulder, curling half onto him. He murmurs something that sounds like “I love you” and stills, taking deep breaths. 

Bro stares up at the ceiling and listens to the moans of the undead from outside. Maybe the end of the world isn’t such a bad thing after all, he reasons. 

“Love you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Think I finally mangled my writer's block, which is awesome, cause I've got a lot of fics to work on. As a note, even though Bro refers to Dave as "kid," in my head, he's legal, so this wouldn't be considered underage. Bro thinks of everyone as a "kid."  
> I've also posted this fic in parts on my tumblr, if you wanted to share it or something, I don't know:  
> [ Here](http://tradanui.tumblr.com/post/26149922310/stridercest-zombie-au)


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